Haunted Past of a forgotten kind
by Large-frozen-rat
Summary: Story of the past life of Bakura.
1. Prologue

Arrows whistled by, nearly sticking his head. He quickly jumped behind a tree, hoping not to be killed at the start of the war. The tree he was behind suddenly cracked and snapped in half. A huge Grog warrior had smashed it with a war-hammer the size of a child, and was now aiming for the young soldiers head. He nimbly leaped in-between the legs of the Grog, smashing his manhood with a small metal club. The Grog howled in pain and collapsed onto the floor, where the soldier quickly finished him off with a Soul Dagger. He smiled as blood ran from the wound and the soul of the Grog turned into a purple crystal. He picked up the crystal and put it in his leather satchel, then continued onwards towards So-Li-Grog Castle.

t(•-•t)

The soul crystals hummed slowly as he entered the sewers of the castle. No one had gotten into the castle unnoticed before, ever. He planned to be the first. His orders were simple. Get inside the castle, use the soul crystals to weaken Na-Ankh-Gorog, and slay him. Then, using the power of his soul, ignite the Soul Spire.

He neared the manhole inside the castle. Creeping up to the faint light coming from the opening, he could hear only the wind. _Safe_. He softly climbed out, then several spears were put to his head. _What? They knew I was coming? Imposiible! Someone must have tipped them off!_

t(•-•t)

The guards dragged him to the Chamber of Souls, where the Soulkeeper lives. As they walked through the doors, Na-Ankh-Gorog turned and greeted them.

"Ohag mo'shuge voslker. NI GUAW!" he addressed the guards. They both exited the room. Then he turned to the chained soldier.

"Hahaha! So'lu'Bakura, you really think you could take me? YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN?". Then purple soul energy swirled around his hand into an orb.

"Die, die, DIE!".


	2. Waking World

Bakura wakes up from his nightmare, screaming. He looks around in the dark nervously, his sweat making him cold. He waits for about ten minutes, and hearing nothing, dares to move to turn on the light switch. As the room illuminates, he notices he had kicked the quilt off the bed in his sleep. Seeing that there was nothing to be afraid of, he built up courage and leaped off the bed, a good three feet away from the edge, so that nothing could grab his feet. He picked up the quilt and threw it on his bed, then made another leap into the bed.

(^.^)

This is the third nightmare he has had this week, and it has been going on for months. He decides he needs to talk to his girlfriend about it.

"Cynthia?" he calls.

"What is it sweetie?" she answers, walking into the room holding a cup of fresh coffee.

"I've been having these horrible nightmares, you see. It's like they are telling a story! I'm looking through the eyes of someone else, and it's just.. terrible.." Bakura burst out, "They just lead to this _thing, _It was tall, and a humanoid.. I just don't remember his name."

"Honey I'm sure it's nothing." She replied, "You just need to stop watching TV for a while, that's all."

Bakura sighed. He knew she was trying to help, but nothing coming out of her mouth was of any use to him. He walked over to his ancestor's journal, kept on a small pedestal and encased in glass. _Maybe they dealt with this too_.

(^.^)

For the first time in over nine-thousand years, the journal was opened. To his dismay, it was all in a different language. One thing that stood out in the journal was on the second page. Na-Ankh-Gorog was written in red ink there. _I knew it!_ _That's the name of the thing from my dream! It wasn't from TV, it was real! _He closed the journal and carefully placed it back in its case, hoping that he could find someone to translate it.


	3. Dreams of mirror

The rough rock scraped against the neck of the young man, ripping and tearing through the skin then smashing against the jugular vein, splashing sticky blood all over the murderer. The blood came out in spurts, spouting out to the rhythm of the dying heart. The rock had made more of a tear in the flesh, rather than the clean cut of a blade, making it look like a bear mutilated him. The gaping hole in the man's throat continued to ooze blood more slowly now, and its smell started to attract flies and other flesh-eating insects. After two weeks of rotting in the forest, the body was home to all sorts of insects. Maggots crawled and squirmed through the blackened flesh, making little holes all over the surface. A scavenging coyote rolled the body over, revealing all the dried blood and insect larva underneath. The stench was unbearable, and all the flies buzzed around and feasted on the rotting man. Beetles lazily climbed into the body, tearing out little chunks of intestines and other organs, which, due to sun exposure, had bloated up with nauseous gasses. A small insect tore a hole into the large intestine, and rotted and liquefied food spilled out, spreading onto the ground and letting out the stench of a barrel of whale oil. Part of the man's jaw started to fall off, dangling by a small piece of skin. There was no tongue; insects and small mammals had eaten it when it was still fresh. Now it was just a rotting heap of human, being devoured by the young larva of flies and worms, while yet smaller bacteria were feasting off the greenish skin and decomposing flesh. The carcass's bones were now visible, caked with dried blood and bits of veins that were still somehow remaining. In every direction you could see insects crawling towards the decomposing human, striving to get something out eat.

Something about this was familiar though. You move in closer to get a look at the face, and with extreme horror, you see your own.


End file.
